


welcome to wonderland (you've been here before)

by bytheinco_nstantmoon



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 2005, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bobby | Trevor Wilson Defense Squad, Can't believe I just tagged that, Coming Out, Daddy Issues, Divorce, Feelings, Found Family Dynamics, He's back, Homophobia, I still don't know why, Infidelity, Jon Makes Obscure References, Life is hard, Marriage Proposal, Mentions of Death, Multi, Please Forgive me, Reconciliation, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Guilt, Sunset Curve (Julie and The Phantoms), We're off to a GREAT start, Well - Freeform, and he might be addicted to crack, but like consensual, for the gays, his suspenders are black, however, i swear to god it's not, im kidding, im sorry, it's just a sit com with depression, jon loses his shit pt 37453, or the straights with daddy issues, reconnection, so many feelings, sorry i moved in your house man im gay and sad, speaking of which, thats it that's the fic, they're catholic again, this is just a sit com, we can pretend, why does this sound so awful and depressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bytheinco_nstantmoon/pseuds/bytheinco_nstantmoon
Summary: Reggie’s not really okay with it. He’s not okay with much of anything right now. He’s a thousand miles from where he thought he’d be thirty four hours ago, and he misses Ferris and Sloane like someone’s pulled his heart out, and he fucking hates the horizon that’s creeping at the edge of the ocean, carrying him in this endless drift.But he hasn’t got anywhere to go.-or; eleven years after Sunset Curve breaks up, Reggie comes back to L.A., and it's been a long time. He doesn't expect the bartender turned friend Willie, or the small, eclectic Mercer family, or the alcoholic librarian that keeps showing up around corners. He doesn't expect to see his old bandmates again. And he certainly doesn't expect not to recognise them.But life goes on. Doesn't it?
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Carrie Wilson, Alex Mercer & Carrie Wilson & Nick & Original Female Character(s), Alex Mercer/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Alex Mercer & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Carlos Molina & Julie Molina & Ray Molina, Emily Patterson & Luke Patterson & Mitch Patterson (Julie and The Phantoms), Julie Molina/Luke Patterson, Luke Patterson/Flynn (Julie and the Phantoms) (past), Nick/Carrie Wilson, Reggie Peters/Nick/Carrie Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	welcome to wonderland (you've been here before)

**Author's Note:**

> too many people have gotten concerned over this so i will clarify now that YES alex is gay and NO he is not romantically involved with any women. this is never in question at any point. thank you. goodnight
> 
> yeah i had this idea very impulsively and was just like haha why not and now it exists i guess so. enjoy !!

He’s half drunk in Miami at two in the morning, wearing leather pants and a jean vest with a million pins, one hand in Sloane’s and the other waving his drink in the air. Some of it’s spilt over onto him, but he’s too high on adrenaline to care. Their third tour’s wrapping up with the show they’re playing tomorrow, and Reggie is buzzing with the thrill of the world. There’s an arm pressed up against his, a pretty face that’s been winking at him all night, and Reggie’s not one for hesitation, so he links his hand ‘round the back of that tattooed neck and gets black lipstick all over his mouth. It’s all teeth and tongue and adrenaline, a chemical reaction on the side of explosive, and he comes away gasping for air in a Miami club, thinking about nothing but tequila and ecstasy.

The news breaks about as well as you’d expect.

“I was wearing leather pants,” Reggie complains to Ferris, because what did anyone think came from a man in leather pants, but all he gets is a sympathetic sigh and a pat on the back. That doesn’t fix the damn problem, though.

As it turns out, nothing’s gonna fix the damn problem except Reggie agreeing not to kiss any more pretty tattooed guys in the club, and as it turns out, Reggie’s not particularly inclined to do that, so he plays the Miami show and then hops on the cheapest flight he can.

He hasn’t been back to Cali since graduation. The sand shifts slowly beneath his feet as he stands on the beach he used to haunt way back in the day, staring at the sea. He’d spent all of senior year here. Writing songs, mostly. With girls, sometimes. Maybe a guy, once, but he can’t remember any faces too clearly after nine years of drinking his memories away, and it doesn’t really matter, anyway.

Reggie wanders down towards the shoreline until his toes nudge into the water, still fixated on the horizon. He’s always liked the horizon. Always liked seeing the edge of the world. Always liked remembering the horizon wrapped all the way around and right back to where his feet dent the sand. It was always comforting to remember he was a tiny little part of a massive world, that he’s giving everything he can to change something massive, that he’s a creation of an endless expanse. He’s standing on someone’s horizon.

It’s not as comforting anymore.

Thirty four hours ago, he was on top of the world. Now, he kicks at the surf and wonders somewhat abstractly if he should have drunk all those memories away. The Reggie from thirty four hours ago was loud and reckless and wore leather pants. The Reggie on the L.A. beach is wearing old jeans and a t-shirt that the logo’s faded off of, his hair ungelled and his hands shaking as he shoves them in his pockets. They’re not that different, but he can’t quite reconcile them.

He doesn’t want to be standing here, but he doesn’t have anywhere to go. Nine years have wiped his impact here away.

“You good, man?”

The unfamiliar voice makes him jerk slightly. His head snaps to the side. The guy’s hair is caught in the wind, blowing it out towards sea, and Reggie laughs before he can help it. He ducks his head, shoulders shaking, laughing like he’s still drunk, like he doesn’t have a manager up his ass, like he never went to that damn club. “Dammit,” he says, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “I- dammit. Sorry. Your hair.”

The guy raises his eyebrows. “My hair?”

“You know, waving and shit,” Reggie explains, gesturing vaguely. “Looks like some kinda avant garde movie. Those pretentious ones.”

“Gummo.”

“Yeah.”

The guy snorts and sticks his hand out. His hair is still tangled up with the air, still looking like a silver screen, and Reggie is almost afraid they won’t really make contact. They do, though, and he can feel the calluses on his fingers catching on the guy’s smooth palm. He’s not sure why he shudders. “Willie,” this stranger says, his voice curling around it in a familiar way, like maybe they’re not strangers anymore.

Reggie lets their hands drop and shoves his hand in his pocket. “Reggie. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Willie squints at him. “You know, Reggie, you look familiar.”

“I’ve got one of those faces.”

Willie doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. The movement pulls it out of the wind for a moment. “Didn’t answer my question,” he says. His eyes are dark, fixated on Reggie like he knows he’s lying.

Reggie’s not lying, though. “Just got in,” he replies. “Don’t have anywhere to stay.” He shrugs, looking back out at the horizon. “You know any motels nearby?”

Willie’s quiet for a minute, but he doesn’t move. Reggie can feel his eyes dragging over his face. Taking him in. Analyzing him. It’s a heavy gaze. The next rush of wind makes him shiver. “They’re all shit,” he finally says. “Got a friend that’s renting rooms, though. You wanna talk to her?”

Reggie shifts, turning towards him. “A friend?” he asks dubiously.

Willie shrugs. “Hey, I stayed there for a bit before I hooked up with my job. She’s got a little kid, if you’re okay with that,” he adds.

Reggie’s not really okay with it. He’s not okay with much of anything right now. He’s a thousand miles from where he thought he’d be thirty four hours ago, and he misses Ferris and Sloane like someone’s pulled his heart out, and he fucking hates the horizon that’s creeping at the edge of the ocean, carrying him in this endless drift.

But he hasn’t got anywhere to go.

“Sure. What’s her name?”

.

.

“Who’s this?”

Carrie looks up from where she’s on the couch with some- hobo, maybe? “Oh, Alex! This is-”

“Reggie,” the hobo interrupts. He’s a mess of a man; tousled hair, faded shirt, jeans with holes at the knees, all drawn and pale and thin, with big eyes that strike Alex’s like a sandstorm. For a moment, from his hair to his sharp jaw to his open gaze, he’s overwhelmingly familiar.

But he doesn’t smile, doesn’t offer a hand, doesn’t wink- he just says, “Nice to meet you,” and something inside his chest curdles.

“Alex Mercer. You too.” He glances between Reggie and Carrie. “So… why are you here?”

“He’s just flown in from New York,” Carrie explains. “Willie thought he’d be alright in the guest room.”

She’s pulling out Willie on purpose, he knows, because Carrie knows exactly what strings to pull to get what she wants, but he holds himself back from saying anything. Carrie may be pulling strings, but they’re not false- Willie does have a good judge of character. If he thinks Reggie needs a place to stay, he’ll have recommended the kind of place he thinks he deserves. And if Willie’s recommending their guest room, he must think Reggie deserves a place in their lives. Alex is willing to give that judgement a try.

He gives Reggie another once-over. “Have you seen the place yet?”

“Carrie gave me a bit of a tour. Just the downstairs and the rented room.”

“Alright.” Alex nods, satisfied. “And you know about Sally?” he asks, because their last renter was an asshole about it. Sally had still been a baby then, to be fair, but the noise had evidently been a deal-breaker.

“Four years old, likes to sing, might come ask me questions if I don’t keep the door locked,” Reggie rattles off. “Out at softball practice right now.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Alright, Holmes. And what about me?”

“Out for work a lot, appreciate coffee being made before you get up in the morning, and-” Reggie gives Alex a once-over of his own. “A bit crabby, if I do say so myself.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but he knows there’s a twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Sure, Reggie may not be his Reggie, but the likability seems to run in the name, and the guy seems alright. “Have you two talked about rent?” He doesn’t want to overcharge. Makes him feel like a landlord.

Carrie nods. “We settled on fifteen a month,” she says. Cheap, but Alex is alright with it. “Might up it to twenty once he gets a job.”

“Did Willie say he’d talk to Russ? I know they’ve been short since Steve left.” Reggie hides a yawn behind his hand, and Alex remembers all at once that he’s just gotten off a long flight. “Hey, maybe you should get a nap,” he says. “It’s probably been a long day for you, huh?”

Reggie gives him a tired smile. “Appreciate it,” he says.

“Of course. We’ll wake you up for dinner.”

Alex waits until he’s gone to drop onto the couch beside Carrie. “How was your day?” she asks, shifting to face him. Alex feels some of the tension relax out of his shoulders. The first few years with Carrie had been tense, but once he’d been honest, once he’d admitted  _ I don’t love you, and I don’t think I ever will,  _ the air had cleared itself. It’s still a bit awkward sometimes- she has this habit of staring for too long, like she’s sorting out a puzzle, trying to understand the why, and he has this habit of swallowing back the real reason and pretending it’s nothing feasible- but awkward or not, she’s his best friend.

“Exhausting,” he admits. She laughs a bit. “The damn editor won’t quit. He’s bitter he didn’t get promoted, so he’s just being so nitpicky, and we can’t call him out on it without looking like assholes- stop laughing.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You’re totally laughing.”

She caves, covering her mouth with her hand, still shaking her head. “You’re just such a grandpa,” she teases. Alex’s mouth drops open in offence. “Alex Mercer, old crotchety man.”

“I am  _ not  _ a- take that back! You  _ asshole-” _

“You can’t call me an asshole, I’m your wife-”

“Yeah, well, you get off on infidelity, so-”

_ “Alexander!” _

Turns out, getting smacked with a pillow is pretty good for stress. He hits her back, and they devolve into a pillow fight in the middle of their living room, with him still in his work clothes and her still in hers, laughing so hard their ribs ache. The late afternoon sunlight sprawls over them through the windows.

Sometimes, Alex looks at himself in the mirror, and all he can see is his father; nearly thirty and already settled into his white picket American dream, going to work at eight and coming home at five, a daughter and a wife and a regular at the bar, repressing everything about himself that doesn’t fit into the cookie cutter outline of his reflection. Sometimes, he feels suffocated- but he has Carrie. He might not love her the way he’s supposed to, but he loves her the way he wants to, and he’s happy with that. He loves her with teasing and pillow fights and laughing until they cry. His parents never lost their shit together on the living room floor. Their heaven was always abstract; Alex is okay finding his heaven here on Earth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are we interrupting?” comes the amused question, and Alex stands, brushing himself off.

Carrie hops over the back of the couch- she could have just walked around, what the hell, Carrie- and drops down, throwing her arms out wide. “Sally!”

“Mommy!” Sally exclaims, barreling into her mother’s arms. “Mommy, Mommy, you’re not going to  _ believe  _ it, I was at practice and-”

While she rambles, Carrie gasping and nodding in the appropriate places, Alex crosses the room to Nick. “Hey, man,” he greets, getting a handshake.

“You don’t have to shake my hand, you know,” Nick says. “I think we know each other better than that.”

“Yeah, you’re sleeping with my wife, asshole,” Alex jokes, and then checks over his shoulder, briefly panicking that Sally might have heard. She’s still prattling away, though.

Nick sighs. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I do, yes. You want some coffee?”

Nick declines- “trying to drink it less,” because he’s healthy or some bullshit- and Alex swoops in to pick up Sally so that Carrie can give her boyfriend a kiss goodbye. He carries his daughter up to her room. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, setting her down.

She stares up at him with those big, wide eyes she gets from her mother. “Can we play cards tonight?”

Alex hesitates. He has an article he needs to finish, and he was going to head out for a drink- Willie’s working tonight, and Alex usually gets a discount, and he wants to say yes, but those big, wide eyes are staring up at him, and Sally looks so much like her mother, and Alex-

Alex says, “Maybe tomorrow,” and pretends he doesn’t feel guilty when she deflates. “Let’s get you cleaned up for dinner, baby,” he continues. “You can tell me about your day.”

She doesn’t.

.

.

Luke orders another shot and knocks it back. “Oh yeah, baby, give it to me,” he says to himself sarcastically.

Willie pauses behind the counter and gives him a strange look. “You alright, Luke?” Luke shrugs, running his finger around the rim of the little glass. “Oh man.” Willie sets down his towel and leans his elbows on the bar. “You need a movie trope, big boy? A little cliche for ya?” he asks. “The wise bartender has arrived.”

Luke laughs despite himself. “Nah, I’m alright,” he replies. “I’m just… stressed.”

“Work?” Willie guesses.

Luke laughs again. “Oh yeah,” he says jokingly. “Very stressful in a library when you can’t fuckin’ read.” Willie snorts, but doesn’t say anything. Just stands there looking at him. Luke fidgets. The alcohol always makes him a little more cynical, a little more sardonic, and his voice tastes bitter on his lips. “The divorce finalised today.”

Willie sighs. Lays his hand over Luke’s. Doesn’t say anything else. Luke’s grateful for that, in the distant way that he’s grateful for anything. “It’s almost my birthday,” he adds. “Just a few weeks. I don’t-” his eyes are burning, suddenly. “I used to be a band,” he says, switching topics nonsensically. Willie nods. He’s heard the story before. Luke can’t keep himself from telling it anyway. “I- I wanna buy a guitar. I don’t have money, I- I want a guitar.” He blinks harshly. “I miss my boys.”

“I know.”

“They were great. Fuckin’ great.”

Willie rubs his thumb over his hand. “You’re pretty fuckin’ great too, buddy,” he says softly.

“You don’t know me.”

“Not when you’re drunk,” Willie agrees.

Luke blinks again, harder. “Drink too much,” he mumbles. “Bein’- bein’ drunk  _ is  _ me.”

“You know that’s not true.” Willie’s voice is firm. “You’re just sad, Luke. You don’t have to make yourself sadder.”

Luke doesn’t see how. The world’s just a mess of consequences and what ifs and days spent looking back over his shoulder, regretting eleven years of decisions he didn’t know how to make. “My mom,” he says abruptly. “My mom, she’s the reason I quit. Wanted me to. Wanted me to study more. I was failing.” He laughs bitterly. “We, uh, we were close. Promised I’d call her all the time in college.” Willie’s eyes are a little sadder. Luke hasn’t talked about this before. Losing Flynn, though, is like losing the lynchpin that’s been keeping his heart closed, and all the old wounds that have been festering inside are spilling out. “It was- it was a month into my freshman year, and I-” he chokes on a sob. “I found this picture, man, I found this old picture of me and Bobby, and I just- I broke down. I broke down.” He swipes at his eyes. “Haven’t called my mom since then.”

Willie is quiet for a while. It’s not peaceful or anything, because the bar’s still crammed full, but it’s better than tequila. “You gotta make some friends, man,” he finally says, and Luke laughs again, more honestly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Hey-” Willie pauses. “You know what?” He scribbles something down on a napkin. “That’s my number. Tomorrow night, you’re gonna go home after work, and you’re gonna watch a movie and order takeout or something, and you’re not gonna drink anything, okay? If you feel like you wanna grab something, call me. We’ll talk instead.”

Luke doesn’t really know what to say. “Thank you.” It’s faint, clumsy, but Willie catches it and gives him a smile in reply.

“Of course. Now get the hell outta here.”

Luke runs into someone as he heads out, their shoulders colliding. “Hey, watch it!” The guy winces and puts his hands up in apology, but Luke just swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and shakes his head. “Sorry, man,” he says. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He won’t. He appreciates the sentiment, though.

.

.

Alex slides into a seat at the bar. Willie’s face lights up in a grin when he sees him, and he finishes serving a couple customers before he sweeps up to him, leaning on the counter with his eyes sparkling. “And just what can I get for you, Mr Mercer?”

Alex laughs. “Whatever you think I’d like,” he replies.

“Ah, a man of mystery.” Willie winks. “I can work with that.” He pushes himself back and-

_ “Willie!” _

He ignores Alex’s reprimand and begins assembling the drink. Alex gives up tracking what’s in it, setting the glass down as soon as it’s in his hand. “Aw, you gotta at least try it!”

“Are you wearing fucking heelies?”

Willie pokes the drink. “Try it.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Try the drink, Alex.”

“You’re deflecting,” Alex accuses him. “You’re deflecting, because you’re wearing heelies, and you know I don’t approve.”

Willie laughs. “Oh, trust me. There’s a whole lot about me you wouldn’t approve of, hotdog,” he says. Alex cringes. He hates that nickname. You get drunk and tell the story of eating three packs of hotdogs in the back of your friend’s truck while sobbing one time, and you get a nickname for life. What’s the return policy on it?

Well, he doesn’t hate it that much, he admits to himself, because Willie is still laughing, and that’s one of his favourite sounds in the world.

“We should get drinks sometime,” he says impulsively. Willie raises an eyebrow. “Not here, dumbass,” Alex rectifies. “Out somewhere. Dinner.”

Willie laughs again. “Are you asking me on a date? How scandalous,” he replies.

Alex chokes on a sip of his drink. “Wh- no, not a date!” He pushes at Willie’s shoulder. “No. Just, like, you and me and Carrie. Like college.”

“Like college,” Willie agrees, catching Alex’s hand in his. “Alright. We can get drinks sometime. Right now, though-” he squeezes once before he lets go. “I have customers to serve. See you, hotdog.”

“Call me.”

Willie winks again. “In nothing but my heelies?”

“I fucking hate you.”

He doesn’t.

It’s a good night.

**Author's Note:**

> it's a happy story i swear. comment and let me know what you thought!! or hmu on tumblr @bobbywilsonsupremacy- i'd always love to hear from you! i love you all!!


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